What makes a good teacher
To summarise the results so far, awesome teachers:

1) Ignore the curriculum
2) Act weird and/or sexy
3) Are occasionally scary
4) Use creative methods
5) Have their own individual and memorable language

I suspect it wouldn't work if *all* teachers were like this, but still - I wish we could encourage these kinds of people more. Who would be a teacher now?

I run a club called Brainstretchers at my kids' school. With eight children in the group I find it pretty hard to keep order - anyone that can maintain the attention of a class of thirty is an astonishment to me.
( flatfrog Staring vacantly into space, Fri 18 Mar 2011, 11:43, 1 reply)

I don't know if he was my favourite
but in terms of being down with the kids he was pretty damn good. He was immensely clever and quite obviously far too good to be a teacher. Schools are shit places, so every rumour that went around became more and more exaggerated- he'd had a breakdown, he was an alcoholic, a womaniser (highly unlikely that one.) But none of them were true (as far as I know) he was just a fantastic teacher in a shit school. He wasn't the nicest- if you failed a test he wouldn't pass you anyway, but he had the most passion for a subject possible.

It was something he deeply cared about and taught us to care about. I left school early since I had little aptitude for anything, but I left with a chemistry qualification and little else thanks to him.

As for being down with the kids, I will tell you one funny story about him. After I got kicked out for taking too many drugs one time too often, I heard that he got cancer which was pretty damn awful obviously, but it turned out he was the source of the best new supply of crystal meth in town
( Amberl was stripey and dominated Europe, Fri 18 Mar 2011, 11:36, 10 replies)

Mr Dew
I've mentioned him before, I think. He taught English, and I was lucky enough to get him for my GCSE years. Whilst we were nominally learning about how to critically compare 1984 with Brave New World, we learnt many other things: the man was eccentric, and an expert on many things. The composer Stanford, military history, art, engineering... he could wax lyrical on any subject with a decent amount of authority. He taught rowing and was one of the senior officers in our CCF, and devoted his all to the school. He was mocked by many due to his appearance and oddities, but most people remember him with fondness and respect. He died not long after I left, and there was a huge turnout at the school chapel for his funeral.

The incident that really makes me smile when I think of him, was when he got bored of Huxley and decided to tell us how to make low-grade opium instead, complete with diagrams on the blackboard. What a legend.
(The Empress it seems you CAN polish a turd!, Fri 18 Mar 2011, 11:31, 2 replies)

Chemistry
I always remember a substitute teacher we had initially for science lessons, who ended up doing everything. he was an ex-army medic who essentially had studied those "how to remember everything" books to the letter and so specialised in...well pretty much everything. i had him as a maths tutor and he really helped out, when he could stay on subject. He was a guy who could literally learn a conversational level language in a week. Scary stuff.
In one of our chemistry lessons he told us a rhyme that I'm sure many of you have heard, and those that havent and understand chemistry will appreciate the joke I'm sure:

Billy was a chemist,
But Billy is no more.
For what he thought was H20
Was H2S04
(Brighton RAWK at the tone, the time will be:, Fri 18 Mar 2011, 11:13, 5 replies)

My uncle's advice to chemistry teachers
My uncle is a biochemist and has very strong opinions about chemistry education. He says to his teaching students: if you are teaching chemistry and your kids aren't stealing magnesium and sulphuric acid from your supply cupboards, you're not doing your job properly.
( flatfrog Staring vacantly into space, Fri 18 Mar 2011, 10:41, 6 replies)

However, regardless of what I said about physics teachers, there is always an exception to the rule.
(A pea)

I went back to college 6 years ago as a mature student to finish my A level physics that I never finished the first time because shagging Mrs Sandettie in fields and on the back of the bus was far more appealing.

My teacher was the same teacher I had 15 years previously and we were reminiscing about the other science teachers from way back when. "Oh, Tom went off to such and such college, Graham retired, Chris emigrated" etc. Then I asked him about 'Gerry'.
"Gerry? The man was an idiot" he said. "Me and Tom were in the faculty room discussing how to better teach about terminal velocity with parachutes when Gerry walked in."
Gerry pipes up, "It's weird how when they're falling and they pull the cord, they fly upwards"

Now, Gerry was a teacher of A level physics and electronics. It's clear where he got this idea from. Freefallers with cameras on their helmets (oo-er).

He wasn't cut out to be a teacher, and is now a head of a poorly performing school somewhere. And not liked at all. On ratemyteachers, somebody put:

"Thinks the key to success is shouting at people and trying to be intimidating. Strangely in most schools thats called a bully - in ours he's the head"
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Fri 18 Mar 2011, 10:37, 1 reply)

I'm death to good teachers
Two teachers were particularly important to me. One was my first proper Maths teacher. He was a scary bugger - so scary that I started deliberately throwing up in the mornings to avoid going to school because I was too terrified to face him. And then I got over it, and somewhere he noticed I had a talent for the subject and nurtured it so that by the end of the year, it was my favourite subject that stayed with me for life.

He was an alcoholic and depressive, and the year after I left the school, he committed suicide.

Years later, during A-Levels, I had a physics teacher that was completely insane but brilliantly inspirational. He had the poshest voice in the world and used to come out with bizarre statements and catchphrases, such as 'take a memo to self, Victoria Street is the stationery capital of the world' or 'ladies, you will have experienced this phenomenon the last time you made a creme brulee; gentlemen, you will have seen it when working on your motor car'. Despite his upper-class lunacy (and affected sexism), he was a liberal and strong believer in an all-round education - allowing me time off homework while I was directing a play, and conducting occasional lessons in the pub.

The year after I left *that* school, he was murdered - according to rumour, by some bloke he picked up in a bar.

Good teachers should clearly keep their distance from me.
( flatfrog Staring vacantly into space, Fri 18 Mar 2011, 10:31, Reply)

Awesome teachers
The euphoria of my having done well in the eleven plus in the late 1950s very quickly turned to despair after the first term at the very posh girls’ school to which I was ‘privileged’ to win a scholarship. It was a dreadful place.

The one saving grace was the music teacher, who was inspiring, kind and very entertaining. One thing she did was allow us to bring in our pop records (45rpm vinyl singles in those days) to the musical appreciation lessons, so that the likes of the Beatles and Manfred Mann were given as much respect as Mozart and Beethoven. This sort of thing was frowned on by several parents, but she said good music was good music wherever it came from. This has stayed with me to the extent that I can appreciate a lovely tune regardless of the source. We felt she was on our side, especially after she hinted that she didn't like the head mistress - a Thatcher-like hag who was hated by all pupils and parents. She - the music teacher - was also the best choir mistress I've ever known and there are many happy memories of choir concerts (we were well known locally and much in demand). If it hadn’t been for her I’m not sure I’d have survived my teens.

Having assumed all my former teachers were long dead I was flabbergasted to discover she was still alive, so I got in touch and last week we met. Apart from her hair now being white, she’s hardly changed in 46 years. We had a lovely nostalgic chat and a good laugh.

Thank you Miss W for saving my life…..
(grumpy old ratbag, Fri 18 Mar 2011, 10:28, 5 replies)

Science teachers
I put it to you all to remember all of your teachers and I will wager that in most cases you will remember the physics teachers as the most entertaining.

My GCSE physics teacher back in the late 80s sought a way to demonstrate the doppler effect. So he filed us all outside into the playground/yard/large overflow staff carpark. He then got in his car drove to the far end, spun round and came hurtling past with a large airhorn blaring out of the window. It worked too.

In one lesson, he gave us each a latex glove each, a small ceramic tile and a blob of plasticine. He told us to make a wall around the tile with the clay. He then came round and gave us all a small pool of mercury to play with. One kid floated a 50p coin (the old coins that were huge) on his, which was rather impressive to us 15 year olds.

However, the best demonstration which I don't think served any purpose apart from sheer amusement, was when he handed out helium balloons to groups of three. We all had to have a lungful and then hang on to it. He then gave the word and we all had to sing "All Things Bright and Beautiful". I don't think anybody got past those first 5 words before laughing, and laughing under helium was just as funny.

I'll agree with the adage, "school is the best time of your life". I'd like to add "Physics doubly so" to that.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Fri 18 Mar 2011, 10:28, 8 replies)

The secret lives of disciplinarians
My school had a system (probably not that uncommon) whereby the headmaster was responsible for the overall running of the school, and the deputy headmaster was in charge of discipline. It was the deputy head who called us to attention before morning assembly, and it was to his office that you'd get sent if you'd been naughty. He was a very tall man, lean and muscular-looking. He dressed in dark, sober colours and neither spoke nor smiled very often. Everything about him exuded quiet menace, and he inspired a decent amount of fear in most of the younger classes.

When I was fourteen or so I was told that the Religious Studies lesson that day was to be replaced by a special assembly, led by the deputy headmaster. The entire year had been pulled out of lessons to hear the man speak so there were about a hundred of us in the hall. Pretty much all of us were wondering exactly what was so special that regular programming had been interrupted, and rumours began to hum that we were in for a massive collective bollocking.

The deputy head strode onto the stage with his black gown and his chilly brown eyes, and began to speak about...his son. His son, who had just been born very premature and in a very bad way, and who had passed away while still in the maternity ward. He spoke for about half an hour and went into a lot of detail about exactly which health problems caused his son's death. He showed us photos, blown up to giant-size on the overhead projector. He told us how he was coping with the whole experience, and how his wife was coping.

We were all utterly stunned. For most of us, teachers didn't really exist outside the classroom and probably went into some sort of stasis when school closed for the day. For the deputy headmaster, this man who ruled the school with a never-seen-but-strongly-hinted-at rod of iron, to stand up and speak about something so astonishingly intimate to a hundred fourteen-year-old schoolboys was as great a jolt to our perception as any of us could have imagined. I think if he had admitted to us that he was going to become a woman and leave the school to work as a circus acrobat, we would have been less surprised.

Mr. Humphries, if you're out there reading this somewhere, you are a very courageous man.
( .Yeti. El amor en los tiempos del cólera, Fri 18 Mar 2011, 10:25, 2 replies)

Crowbar plot manoeuvre, perhaps
But I think the singularly most practical, marvellous, and completely genuine nickname we ever gave one of our teachers was one of the monks who taught physics. He was a complete bastard, and a big fan of shouting, getting angry and corporal punishment, and thus he was known as, simply

"Fucker".
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 18 Mar 2011, 10:21, 6 replies)

timely qotw this, good one
i've got very fond memories of a teacher who, instead of geography, taught us how to abseil off the roof of the school. regardless of what else was going on, he also made sure we spent the sunniest day of the year by the school's old outdoor swimming pool.

i'm also indebted to one teacher who, having watched me piss away 3 months on the lathe and welding rig, took over my a-level project and turned it round in a week, drawings and all. for that he charged me £50.
(Parmenu, Fri 18 Mar 2011, 10:01, Reply)

It's a pity Frank departed, otherwise we'd still have stuff like this.
www.b3ta.com/questions/schooltrips/post67719
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Fri 18 Mar 2011, 9:58, 3 replies)

As a yoof, I loved science and maths
I wasn't particularly good at English, though I enjoyed reading. Then I got a new teacher. Mr Bradley, a curly-haired scouser who always wore a waistcoat and whose band once supported Bon Jovi on tour.

He was perpetually enthusiastic, genuinely so, about English, about teaching, about education, about writing.

Thanks, in part to him, I'm a writer and journalist, published in a number of countries and, shockingly, respected by at least two people.

Much of this I owe to my parents and their love of reading but, Mr Bradley, it's also down to you.

One day I hope see him again and get the chance to thank him.
(Miraclefish How appropriate, you fight like a cow, Fri 18 Mar 2011, 9:54, 1 reply)

The good, the bad and the ugly
To be honest I never really had any ‘Tuesdays with Morrie’ type teachers. But here is a selection of the good the bad and the downright ugly –

Mrs Mcrabb (Good) - Didn’t really appreciate Mrs Mcrabb until I had left school, she was as mad as wire. This was proved by spotting her down at the local supermarket taking her pet ferret and rabbit for a stroll. She used to put a friendly arm round me (she was my tutor) and seemed capable of coming down to my immature level. She also used to play the cello and in order to do this she would hitch up her skirt and grab the cello between her legs and play like a mad woman...I liked her, she was eccentric.

Mr Barry (Bad) – Didn’t like teaching, so sat us in silence answering the questions in text books, whilst he stared into space, picking his nose with his car keys. He would then eat what he had dug up, whether it was from the nose or the ears....Great for concentration.

Miss Niall (Ugly) – Liked all the little boys to look up to her. I suspect she didn’t get much attention from adult men and thought kids could be better partners....Strange, she also thought she was attractive but sadly for her she looked like Eddie from Iron Maiden (when he sports that blonde wig). I think she had about 2-3 affairs with 5th/6th formers, I think that’s year 11/12 now.
(bROKEN aRROW PUA HVI Master, Fri 18 Mar 2011, 9:52, 1 reply)

Mrs. Nkamba (I hope that's right)
When I started primary school in Zambia they (the educators) were still a bit funny about dealing with us South-Paws. I used to get rapped on the knuckles quite regularly for writing with my left hand. Then I broke my left arm & had to learn to write right handed.
When I started Yr. Can't Remember (Probably 2 or 3) Mrs. Nkamba, who was a proud leftie wrote on the chalk-board with her LEFT hand.
She explained to me the latin meanings of sinister & dexter and then told me all of the *smart* famous people who had been lefties.
Thank you Mrs. Nkamba, I can still (kinda) sign my name with my right hand but...
most of my wanking disasters have happened with my right hand.
(Misery McUglywife an attention seeking sociopathic fuckstain., Fri 18 Mar 2011, 9:14, Reply)

Mr. Brackenridge
Once Mr.B. and the labtechs decided that the large lumps of sodium (I can't remember exactly what, c'mon it was 1997) stored in oil were "old" & had to be disposed of we got to go down to the school pool (yeah, I had a privileged edumacation) & chuck the lot in.
Much fizzing, popping & hilarity ensued as Mr.B. *carefully* paper-toweled each chunk then handed it to us to chuck into the pool so that we could understand the valence differences between a volatile metal and water.
I'm pretty sure the grounds-keeper was fairly pissed off at us doing our best to change the pool's pH but...
Na + H2O = Fun!
FFiiiiiiiiiizz. BANG!
EDIT: Not a pair of safety glasses to be seen.
(Misery McUglywife an attention seeking sociopathic fuckstain., Fri 18 Mar 2011, 7:58, 1 reply)

My favourite teacher is one I never met!
My handwriting is very poor, although my literacy skills are normal.

I was constantly punished at school for writing untidily. I was obviously 'lazy' and 'not trying' because my written work was articulate but scruffy.

Back then, over 40 years ago, teachers could still hit kids and at primary school I was often slapped around for untidy work.

In those pre-comprehensive days, at 11 I went to the grammar school and my younger brothers to the secondary modern. The constant punishment for my untidy handwriting continued, although at least the spanking stopped.

Anyway... one day I was discussing school with my much younger brother, who mentioned that his teacher said that 'some people just aren't made for tidy handwriting.'

I thought, 'What a clever man! He's talking about people like ME! Wish he was MY teacher!'

At university a few years ago I was diagnosed with dyspraxia, confirming that the teachers who belittled me were wrong. I feel even more justified in despising them.

That secondary modern teacher, though, whose name I never even knew - he was clever enough to know that kids don't write untidily on purpose. I still respect HIM!
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Fri 18 Mar 2011, 7:54, 3 replies)

The Stick Of Kindness
Apologies for length - could probably post 4 times as much about this guy!

We were 13 or 14 I think - so not easliy scared - but we'd heard that our new English teacher had a bit of a temper. He was old even then, white haired and beady eyed, with an academic's stoop. At the start of our first lesson Mr Scott walked up and down between the desks without saying a word. Then he went to his desk at the front of the room, opened the drawer, and took out a bit of wood that I think had once been a chair leg. He stalked up and down again with it in his hand, still in total silence. A boy called James turned to whisper something to the kid next to him, and quick as a flash, and with all his might, Mr Scott smashed the chair leg down onto James' desk. Absolutely everyone jumped. "This", he said with a camp leer, "is the Stick Of Kindness. As everybody knows, sometimes you have to be cruel, to be kind".

Needless to say he was an excellent teacher. A few years later I was taking English A-Level, and also, for no reason other than it seemed like an easy A Grade, I was doing Latin too. Mr Scott was of course fluent in every dead language, and as soon as he found out that I was taking Latin, I was required to provide background detail on every classical reference in every book or poem we studied. This was done with great good humour and was obviously an attempt to provoke me into further reading. Worked, too: English, A, Latin, A.

The lesson I'll remember him for though he just went totally away from the lesson plan and asked me how the Latin was going (I think he was just bored of Seamus Heaney). He asked what I was studying, and I explained I was translating the Metamphoses by Ovid. I'd got quite a high mark from my Latin teacher for the translation I'd done, so I handed it over quite confidently. "No no, it's not like that at all. Your translation is far too literal. Ovid was a notorious pervert. Quite possibly f***ing the Emperor's daughter. Although who wasn't? Nasty slag..." He then picked up the Latin text and did the most filthy translation of it you can imagine (the bit where the guy is touching the statue before it comes to life). We all sat there staggered that such a figure of authority could emit such filth in the name of education. But but but, it really bought Ovid to life - put the life and excitement back into it. Again, probably inspired me to work hard enough for my A grades. He also introduced me to Catullus, who would have been on B3ta if he was alive today.

As I count off the years I figure he's most likely retired now. They don't make them like that any more. At one point he even made me change seats to sit next to the girl that I fancied. "Don't be shy, it's so bloody obvious"

Top top man, I hope I was a worthy adversary.
( expf, Fri 18 Mar 2011, 7:50, 4 replies)

Gas Bag
We had a old lady teacher at senior school( she seemed to be about 103 when we were there, she must be well gone by now ) Mrs. G___ who's nick name was Gasbag. When I started the school I asked another kid who had been there a year or two "Well why do they call her gas bag?" He laughed and said "Oh you obviously never had her for a lesson" Which I must admit I had not, he did not tell me so I was still none the wiser. Then a friend of mine in another class found out why she got that curious epithet the hard way. His class were having a lesson with her, she had set them some work to do then proceeded to plod up and down between the rows of desks (as they do) As she passed my mate , who had is head down pretending to look very busy she let out an enormous fart! PARP! My mate looked up in astonishment and of course began to giggle ( as did most of the other kids who were in the firing line . She glared at him and then boomed in her infamous foghorn voice "YOU BOY, WHAT'S SO FUNNY? " " Er nuffin Miss... pfft....nuffin" . "WELL STOP LAUGHING AT 'NOTHING' AND GET ON WITH YOUR WORK!" He said half of him was dead scared of her yet the other half of him wanted to crack out laughing.
(Mackeson_drinker, Fri 18 Mar 2011, 7:37, Reply)

Too many good to count, and only a handful of bad
I'm from Texas where these unsung heroes are taking an especially brutal beating lately. It's unfortunate the witch hunt that's currently going on here. Most of my academic life has been spent in Texas, minus a stint in grad school out of state, and it's definitely not as bad as the media lets on. We've got some brave souls who teach fact and reason regardless of laws or insipid textbook specifications. Here's a list of the brightest spots:

Mrs. Gillespie, third grade - Encouraged my love of art and especially Van Gogh. She taught me the depth of the brush stroke was as important or even more so that the accuracy of the reproduction.

Ms. Alice Smith, fifth grade - Taught that learning is fun if you go about it in a fun way.

Mr. Chris Strzelecki, seventh and eight grade, Texas and US history - Had such a love for history that it was impossible not to feel similarly.

Mr. Joseph Johnson, ninth through eleventh grade, speech and debate classes - Barely older than the kids in the class he taught. He had a still unbridled passion for the process of learning. He encouraged us to think freely and to use our brains to reason through complicated issues to arrive at issues that we had to inevitably conclude were inconclusive due to relativism.

Dr. Joel Lebsack, ninth grade, Algebra - Presented the information to me for the second time (failed it the previous year - by fail, I mean just a hair below 80%) in a way I finally understood. He took the time, when asked, to explain how certain theorems actually worked. To this day, I still understand the mechanics of the quadratic equation.

Mr. David Yost, tenth grade, English GT - Wow. Never have I had a teacher before or since that refused to accept any level of mediocrity, and required the absolute best from his students the way he did. Every lesson was in critical thinking and intellectual exploration. In the nine short months of his class, we'd read through about a dozen books, including the 1,500 page Les Miserables, The Grapes of Wrath and Catcher in the Rye. To this day, I credit this one teacher as having the strongest influence over my life.

Mrs. Horton, tenth grade, Geometry - Never had I met a numbers person more concerned with a person's ability to grasp a concept over the ability to regurgitate formulas before I took her class.

Mr. Chris Davis, eleventh grade, history - Threw away the textbook, Dead Poets Society style. We never used it once, not once, during the school year. He balked at every convention and rewarded his students who did the same. He taught us real history, not the whitewashed garbage we'd been force fed up to that point. We learned about the world, zits, scars, pockmarks and all. It was a truly enlightening experience, one that I'd not experience again until college.

Er... so... first time poster but long time lurker. I'd apologize about the length but {joke}.
(AtticaFlinch, Fri 18 Mar 2011, 4:11, 2 replies)

Dr. P
We had the best GCSE biology teacher who unfortunately left just before the actual GCSEs and was replaced by a total cockshite, (but thats for another story).

Some of his best moments:
- Teaching the basics of DNA using fizzy laces and jelly beans held together with toothpicks.
- Explaining dilution using farts, and 'fart atoms.'

His best moment comes from an afternoon of sports. We students were 'warming up' with a few laps of the sports pitch, and as usual the larger, more unfit kid (who shall be referred to as R from now) was lagging behind. The PE teacher was shouting out and generally putting the kid down, with some comments that shouldn't really be said by a teacher. Anyway R trips and the teacher bursts out laughing and adding more condescending comments. At this moment Dr. P was walking past the sports field and casually shouts, "At least he's not fucking the librarian," (a large unsightly hell demon) and walks into the science building. This turned out to be true, and of course spreads around the school like wildfire, causing said PE teacher's wife to find out. Last I heard he was fired and is living at home with his parents.

At the end of year assembly when Dr. P left he had the longest, and loudest cheer of the year.
(eggs and spam *insert witty sig here*, Fri 18 Mar 2011, 2:22, 5 replies)

Not quite a teacher..
But one of our school supervisors was called Pooh Schmuck, an unfortunate name if ever there was one. This was made even more hilarious by the fact that, being Dutch, she didn't quite know how funny we'd find it (it was an international school, so we had students and teachers from all over the place). She spent her whole first day at the school popping her head round the classroom doors and saying
'Hello! My name is Pooh, like the bear..'

She was also rather round, short, and had a bit of a temper, and whenever we got caught doing anything we shouldn't, she'd look up at us from over the top of her glasses, trembling with indignant rage, and shout 'Hyou again!'
We found her rather funny.
She eventually decided she preferred to be called Winnie.
(SoupMina, Fri 18 Mar 2011, 1:20, Reply)

Mr. Fletcher and that age old question...
"Now Zack, what's the difference between jelly and jam?"
"I can't jelly my dick in your Ass, now bend over."


Kindergarten was so much fun.
(CactusZack Shaved his coin purse on, Fri 18 Mar 2011, 0:35, Reply)

Taught me for year 3
Mr Lee (sadly died a few years ago) was one of several great teachers I've had in my time in education. Being in his class did involve semi-regular interruptions from kids sent from other classes in search of one of the myriad of tools which Mr Lee would have lying about in his desk drawer; this was the sort of teacher who would accidentally write on the whiteboard with a permanent marker so wander into his cupboard and fetch some white spirit to clean the board (this not being some science department, but the cupboard of a man who taught 7 year olds).

It is hard to describe just how brilliant he was, but just how much time and respect he had for his pupils is perfectly demonstrated by the time he phoned my home one evening. We had had something of an argument in class that day, but far from phoning my parents to give me a bollocking, he wanted to talk to me; he wanted to apologise as he had looked up the answer to whatever we had disagreed about and found himself to be in the wrong.

To have the humility to to phone the home of a 7/8 year old and admit freely both to the child and parents something which could so easily have been never mentioned again is the mark of a man who puts integrity and learning above personal pride. Such a shame I was one of the last to get the benefit of this particular example of great teaching, hopefully if I do decide to become a teacher (I'm toying with the idea) I'll be able to be as patient, honest and inspiring as him.
(madsporkmurderer, Fri 18 Mar 2011, 0:32, 2 replies)

Supply and demand
You know that joy you would feel when you heard a teacher was ill, and NO, classes weren't cancelled. You got the supply teacher instead?
YAY!
Well it was YAY in our school if you got Mr.Jones.
He was brilliant. He was a jolly Welsh chap with a monks hair do, beer belly and a muzzy that would put Tom Selleck to shame. His replacement lessons always consisted of a 'spot the intro' pop quiz. Playing snippets of songs from a portable tape player. (yes that's a tape player) He had a never ending supply of the things!
The BEST thing though was he had been bitten by a shark, and lived to tell the tale.
And boy, did we make him tell the tale again and again and again.
With a ridiculous amount of hounding we could demand him to show us the 'wound'!
He would too if he was in a good mood, and as he lifted up his shirt to show the ruddy almost gelatinous scar (it was on his lower front left side) the whole class would erupt in screams of 'EEEuuughghghhghghghhhhhhhh SIR!!! That's DISGUSTING EUUUgGGHHHHHHH'
While he chuckled to himself, pulled down his shirt, and tried to make us guess if the next intro was Culture Club or Duran Duran.
( Herb Alpert's Taxi Driver I have very beautiful lips, Fri 18 Mar 2011, 0:30, Reply)

Back in the 60s and 70s
...there were no boring teachers. Some were bastards, some nutters, some geniuses.

Mr Singleton in primary school had lost an eye in a Lancaster, and would quell the class by threatening to lift the patch.

Father O'Reilly, who was open about his lack of vocation and who could play Black Dog only when pissed.

Sister Assumpta who had balls of steel. It was quite the thing at one point to leave porn on teachers desks; she didn't run out of the room but put it up on the OHP and invited the class to get them out and tug. No takers.

The Head, who caught me and a mate making homebrew in the darkroom. When it was ready, he locked it away and every Friday we went to his office where we would be permitted a bottle each: "Boys, alcohol is a divine gift, and moderation is the thanksgiving for it". He once suspended 2 sixth-years for shagging at a dance. The guy who was underneath got a week, the one on top 2 weeks. "Gentlemen, the ground was damp, and the young lady could have caught her death. If I haven't taught you morals, I will teach you manners."

And the nameless priest who came to give us a chat about alcoholism and told us that he knew he had a problem when he called the Archbishop of Valencia a "Franco-worshipping cocksucker" in front of the aforesaid Spanish general and mass-murderer. Standing ovation, in which the staff joined.
(all my scars face forward possesses 2.5% of a hyperalloy combat chassis, Fri 18 Mar 2011, 0:26, 4 replies)

When I was doing Standard Grades
One of the music teachers was a Miss Ramsay.

Utter wank fodder for the hairy-palmed boys of the esteemed school I attended, in spite of the hairy mole.

Some wag had written a Razzle letters page-style story about her on the inside of a cubicle in the East Wing- the nearest literary competition in that white and reeking room was the legend SEX IS ACE scratched in to the white, enamel paint which covered one of the hand dryers.
(dozers, do fuck off ur a nob m8, Thu 17 Mar 2011, 23:37, Reply)

Mrs Fischer
Damn, the memories keep flooding back.
Mrs Fischer wore low-cut tops. God bless her.
( difficultchild, Thu 17 Mar 2011, 23:24, Reply)

PMGT just reminded me!
I had a science teacher who for reasons best known to himself, taught an entire form of boys how to build a still. As in an alcohol making still. How effective was his teaching technique? 30 years later I can still remember you need a huge beaker to hold the mashed fruit or vegetable mixture you've allowed to ferment, then a fractionating column sealed to the top of that to catch the vapour that is boiled off when you heat the mess to exactly 78 degrees fahrenheit.
( difficultchild, Thu 17 Mar 2011, 23:22, 2 replies)